


Purr

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cat, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Phil and the furry purry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purr

Clint's lap was warm, but the human wasn't relaxed. The hand that was slowly, rhythmically stroking her fur was tense. Not rigid, the hand was soft and gentle, but she could sense the stress in him, the feeling that all was not well. 

She purred. 

She didn't purr often, but she liked Clint, and he seemed to need it. She could tell that he was hurt by the way he sat on the sofa; guarding his left side. She had stepped into his lap slowly, giving him the chance to block her, in deference to his injury, but he seemed to need, and want, the comfort of her presence. 

Clint smelled lonely, which is why she was curled up in his lap. She knew he was lonely because his mate wasn't home, and hadn't been home for quite a while. Clint hadn't been home either, until a few days ago when he'd limped into the building and up the stairs to the apartment. She had been watching from the fire escape. 

So she was sitting in his lap, purring, when she heard his mate's footsteps on the stairs. He didn't hear them, not yet. His hearing was even worse than the average human's, even though he wore devices in his ears to help him hear better. She shifted, stretched, stood. She stepped off his lap and onto the sofa cushions beside him just as he heard his mate opening the door.

"Clint?" Phil asked loudly.

"In here, on the sofa," Clint called back.

"Don't get up, I hear you bruised some ribs."

"Not getting up. Not moving more than I have to for a couple of days. M'okay, though."

"Good." Phil had shed his bag and jacket by the door and was unknotting his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar as he approached. Clint turned his head and winced at the pain in his neck. She rubbed her cheek against his bicep. Silly humans didn't have the sense to curl up and sleep when they were hurt. Especially this one. He was calmer, though, now that his mate was home.

Phil leaned down and kissed Clint full on the lips. It was a long and lingering 'welcome home.' Then Phil pulled back and gave his mate an assessing look.

"I'm fine. Just the bruised ribs and a few pulled muscles, I swear. The docs will back me up."

"I know, I checked with them before I left." Phil's voice was teasing and fond at the same time, and Clint relaxed further. She planted her forepaws on his thigh and started to knead.

"If you give her some food, you can probably grab her spot on the sofa while she's eating. There's tuna in the fridge."

"Okay. Do you want anything while I'm up? Because once I sit down next to you on that couch, I'm not moving for a couple of years," Phil said with a tired grin.

"If there's any chocolate milk in the fridge that isn't developing sentient life..."

"You got it. Be right back."

She was still kneading Clint's thigh in a soothing rhythm, keeping her claws well sheathed to spare him more pain. Clint raised a tired hand to the back of her neck and gave her scritches. She followed Phil with her eyes as he moved around the apartment, checking the locks on the door and windows, turning lights off, and finally going to the kitchen. When she heard him open the fridge door, she stopped kneading and rubbed her cheek against Clint's wrist, then leapt off the sofa and padded into the kitchen.

Phil was putting some tuna in a dish on the floor for her.

"You know, we should probably stop pretending that we're not feeding her, and buy some actual cat food."

"Tuna's probably better for her than cat food," Clint called back. "Besides, she likes it."

Phil left the kitchen while she was eating and she watched him go, but didn't follow. Even though there was almost always a meal to be had in this building, she had spent enough days hungry that she wouldn't turn her nose up at any offered meal.

When she'd finished eating she spent a few minutes grooming; washing her face and ears, and setting her whiskers in order. The humans in the next room were kissing again, from the sound of it, but they weren't coupling, probably because Clint was hurt. 

So she padded back into the living room and hopped up onto the sofa again. Clint's glass of chocolate milk was half-empty on the coffee table, next to Phil's half-drunk beer.

Phil was sitting in the corner of the sofa, with Clint draped against him, a pillow supporting his injured side. Phil's arms were wrapped protectively around his mate, and both now smelled of lazy contentment. 

She approved. She crawled back into Clint's lap and started to purr.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my writing on Tumblr at: [Jo Mathieson](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


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